Intertwined
by poppyandpeony
Summary: She said their bond could not be broken by time, but it wasn't until their trip to Jacksonville, an old photograph, and a cashmere scarf that she realized how right she was. It was scary sometimes, how much they belonged together. AU One shot.


**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** This was my very first twilight fanfic. It takes place during Bella and Edward's visit to Jacksonville to see Renee.

*****It is important to note that "singer" qualities don't kick in until after puberty. I have no actual evidence to support this statement, but I'm taking creative license in the name of fluff.*****

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She hadn't realized how much she missed the sound of her mother's laugh. It was loud and unapologetic, and it forced anyone nearby to join in—even Edward, who had been the picture of apprehension all morning. Bella could only smile as she reveled in his newfound nervousness, knowing that for once it was not due to the sudden appearance of mythical creatures or new restrictions on bobcat hunting, but merely because he was meeting her mother for the very first time.

It was so human of him.

Sitting on the living room floor with her elbows propped up on the coffee table, Bella stifled a giggle while remembering Edward and Renee's awkward introduction, he bowing his head and she smiling curiously down at him.

"Geez Edward, you're not gonna make me curtsy, are you?"

Bella was certain that if Edward could blush, he would have done just that.

Renee had that effect on people.

As the hours passed, Edward had lightened up – about as much as Edward could lighten up. In fact, he had just recently stopped calling Renee "Mrs. Johnson," but that was only after she had threatened to reimburse him for the plane tickets. This time, Bella couldn't help but giggle as she pictured the look of abject horror on his face and his stuttering, flustered response.

"No, please I -- Yes, of course, Mrs.—Renee."

Now, her mother's laughter catapulted Bella into the present, one that would have been far less pleasant were it not for the man seated directly behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

As much as Bella enjoyed her mother's laughter, the reason for it was painful at best. Renee was currently finishing number three in a series of one thousand embarrassing stories from a childhood full of scraped knees, hair stuck with gum, and lips covered in melted root beer popsicle. (Charlie was always careful to throw away the banana flavored ones after Bella screamed that they tasted "disgusting," which, incidentally, was her first three-syllable word).

The current story tumbling from Renee's mouth was a not-so-rare gem, commonly referred to in the Swan household as a "Bella Classic."

"…so Charlie said 'Bella, you can only check out as many books as you can get to the checkout counter.' The next thing he knew she was walking toward him with a stack of 30 books in her arms."

Bella took this opportunity to cover her face in her hands, as though it would some how shield her from the ensuing embarrassment. To the unsuspecting observer, it would seem that she was truly offended by her mother's choice for ice-breaking conversation, but the cold arms that were wrapped around her waist felt too good, and the sound of his loving laughter in her ear kept any true humiliation at bay.

Bella removed her hands in order to properly defend herself. "Okay, for starters it was not 30 books. It was only 15. Besides, most of them were _Encyclopedia Brown_, and those are notoriously light." She felt his smile skip across the back of her neck to her ear.

" Encyclopedia Brown? Should I be jealous?"

"I was seven years old," she snickered, smacking him in the shoulder and pretending that he could actually feel it. He played along, of course, flinching away and looking at her in amused shock.

It was during moments like these that she could look at his topaz eyes and imagine they were nothing more than one of the many genetic blessings granted to him.

His arms found her waist again and his mouth returned to her ear.

"I wish I could have seen you then."

His lips softly kissed Bella's warm skin and she realized that a part of her wished for the very same thing, especially now that it seemed the only memories she wanted to keep were those that contained his glorious face. Bella was about to utter this very thought when her mother screamed,

"Oh Edward, you have to see the pictures!"

Bella had almost forgotten Renee was there.

Almost.

Not sure whether she was angry at her mother for attempting to further her embarrassment, or because her interjection had caused his lips to leave their rightful place on her skin, Bella groaned, "Absolutely not, Renee. No. How about I start dinner?"

She began to sit up, but his strong hands kept her where she was—and. if she was being honest with herself—exactly where she wanted to stay.

"Oh don't be silly, Bella. We're ordering pizza. And I'm sure Edward wants to see them, don't you…Mr. Cullen?" Renee couldn't help smirking at her own joke, but her eyes pleaded with him to say yes.

Bella's eyes pleaded with him, too, though for the exact opposite reason. And while the moisture collecting on her irises did prove to Edward that she truly was her mother's daughter, it did not have the effect Bella intended, for at that precise moment, his lips had returned to the back of her neck and she was gone.

"May I please, Bella?" he murmured as his mouth moved across her nape to just behind her other ear, shielding from Renee's view his unbearably persuasive tactics.

And though her brain really, really wanted to tell him no, his tongue had something else in mind. Icy and slick, it darted out from between his lips to caress the spot just beneath her—

"Yes!" she gasped, trying her very best not to moan in front of her own mother. His tongue retreated and he brought his head up to look at her with an air that could only be described as victorious.

Not fair.

Renee was out of her seat before the word had left Bella's mouth. "I'll go and get them…and Edward, if you stand up when I leave the room again I'm going to tape your butt to the floor."

"Yes Mrs. — Renee."

As her mother danced up the stairs, Bella turned to Edward and glared.

"Are you mad that I want to see them?" he grinned sheepishly.

"Yes," she lied, "after a two-hour sojourn down Bella's tragically painful memory lane, the last thing I want is for you to see the photographic evidence."

"She wants to look at them with you…she misses you, love."

Her bottom lip jutted out in a pathetic attempt at defiance, but the twinkle he spied in her chocolate brown eyes told him that there was a small part of her that wanted him to see the pictures, too--that wanted him to know her before she had even known herself.

His eyes left hers and began roaming over her legs. She held her breath.

His eyes stopped their search when they found her knees, and his hands soon followed, brushing over the soft white scars that lay on her skin. They were nearly invisible now, but he (of course) could see them: tiny reminders of her adorably fragile humanity.

"My poor Bella."

Edward lowered his lips to her knees and began to kiss each scar, taking his time, savoring the way her skin moved and spasmed beneath his mouth whenever he made contact.

Bella had never been more grateful for her lack of grace.

He looked up to see that the once-defiant lip had retreated under her teeth, and the small moan that escaped her mouth told him that she was--for now--pacified.

So not fair.

"I couldn't remember which one they were in so I just brought them all down," Renee called, her voice muffled from behind the pyramid of boxes in her arms.

"Let me help you, Renee." Edward said as he jumped to his feet at a speed slow enough to pass for human, but fast enough to catch the small, blue, rectangular box that was about to topple to the ground.

"Ah, chivalry's not dead. Thank you, Mr. Cullen." This time, Renee actually curtsied before turning to Bella. "I can't remember which box has the photos from when you were in elementary school."

There was a noticeable silence as Bella tried desperately to extinguish the embers that Edward had left beneath her skin. When she finally did respond with, "It's the blue box that Edward's holding," Bella made every attempt to sound nonchalant.

She was unsuccessful.

Renee looked at Edward apologetically: "Bella organized these during one of her freak cleaning binges. I came home to find everything in the garage boxed and labeled. She even color-coded them by year."

Edward flashed her his crooked smile, and Bella's breath hitched for the tenth time in two minutes.

When she finally found her voice (again), she shrugged her shoulders.

"Phoenix is boring."

His eyes lovingly mocked her attention to detail, and though she would never admit to saying it—and no one but Edward could have heard—she added under her breath, "At least I don't categorize my CD's by artist and release date."

Bella reached up and grabbed the box from Edward's hands as he reclaimed his previous position behind her. "Okay, Mom, let the torture begin." Bella threw off the lid, and while she had half a mind to create some sort of diversion by "accidentally" throwing photos across the room, she couldn't help but smile at seeing them preserved exactly the way she had left them. She carefully grabbed the stack labeled 1994.

She was seven years old.

The first picture was all too familiar.

"Oh no way Bella, this is from that day at the library!" There was Charlie standing next to his baby girl as she frowned at the mess of books that lay at her feet. One remained open in her hand, and her face was an impossible mix of confusion and determination. It was the same look that Edward remembered seeing in Port Angeles what seemed like a thousand years ago—before she had claimed him; before his life had truly begun.

"What were you thinking about?" Edward couldn't help but be reminded of the first time he had asked her this very question, and he smiled.

"I was trying to figure out a way to carry all the books."

"And what exactly did you do?"

"I stacked them onto a chair and pushed it to the checkout counter."

Edward's eyes glowed in appreciation for her ingenuity. Even at seven years old, she never ceased to amaze him. He was about to tell her just as much when Bella thrust a pile of photos in front of him.

"Choose your poison…Mr. Cullen."

Edward heard Renee giggle as he deftly pulled an old Polaroid from the pile Bella had provided. As he turned it over, Bella noticed a change in his expression: a look of confusion in his eyes not unlike the one he had seen so often in her own. She watched him jerk his head toward Renee, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Before Bella could see the photo, Renee had grabbed it from his hands. Feeling both helpless and clueless (a terrible combination), Bella continued to stare at the topaz eyes still locked on her mother's face, trying desperately to see some spark of relief, some hint that everything was okay. It was no use. Edward was truly bewildered.

Well, this was a first.

"Oh Bells, this is from that day on the ferry in Alaska." Bella's eyes narrowed as her mother explained further for Edward's benefit, though he hardly seemed to be listening. "We were visiting an old friend of Charlie's and Bella had never been on a ferry before. She spent the whole time trying to figure out how the cars didn't make it sink."

For the sake of her own pride and in the hopes that a smile would return to Edward's face, Bella said "One: cars are heavy, and two: I was six years old." She laughed a little too loudly and returned his gaze only to find the hard lines of incredulity remained.

So, as was often the case, Bella reacted to his confusion with her own.

"Bella insisted on standing at the rail. Charlie had shown her pictures of whales and she was so sure she would see one. When Charlie stepped back to take the picture…"

"I fell down, of course."

"Fell down? You nearly fell off the side of the ferry. If it wasn't for that boy I don't know what we would have done."

Attempting to engage her in conversation before Renee noticed Edward's abnormally strange behavior, Bella turned back to her mother.

"What boy? Charlie pulled me up."

Renee shook her head. "Your eyes were closed so tight, and he left so quickly, I don't think you had a chance to see him."

"What are you talking about?"

"This boy came out of nowhere and helped to pull you back up. You were shaking because you were scared so he…"

No.

"…He gave me his scarf." Bella remembered, the words tumbling out of her mouth as the memory came crashing back. It was so clear now: the whales that never came, Charlie screaming her name, and the pair of strange arms that caught her before she could hit the ground.

Renee barely noticed her daughter take the weathered polaroid from her unknowing hands. "Charlie wanted to take a photo with the boy, but he left so quickly. I remember he knelt down and wrapped his scarf around your neck, and you just stopped shivering…like you had never been cold."

Bella's hands were shaking as she turned over the picture, knowing what she would see before she even saw it.

And there it was.

In the far right corner of the frame, barely visible to anyone but her, were the hands that she knew as well as her own.

Her eyes locked with his.

Impossible.

Then again, she couldn't recall the last time anything had seemed impossible.

"Edward?"

And he said it so softly, Bella wouldn't have heard it if she didn't already know.

"I remember."

His face returned to one of confusion as she jumped up, knocking over the other photo boxes and ran up the stairs, pure adrenaline and wonder carrying her to the top without so much as a stumble. She knew exactly what box she was looking for. She remembered putting it in there what seemed like a thousand years ago--before he had claimed her, before her life had truly begun.

She spotted her target, and ripped off the tape with still-trembling hands. Throwing baby clothes and old stuffed animals aside, her wild fingers finally alighted on the source of their frenzy.

It was as soft as she remembered.

Bella brought the gray cashmere wool to her face and gasped.

It still smelled like him.

She wanted to scream, to laugh, to faint, to run back down stairs and ask him if he had somehow known all along.

She didn't do any of those things. Instead, the weight of her realization brought her to her knees. She started to cry, though she would never be able to tell you why.

This is what his love did to her.

Just when it all seemed remotely possible—normal, even—something,\ happened to make it all too much. Too good. As the small, cruel voice in her head began to say, "Too good to be true," she felt a pair of now-familiar arms envelop her.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her tears and she could not speak.

His hand found hers and she felt the cold plastic photo in her palm.

"Look at it again, my love."

And she did.

There was a little girl with an entirely-too-big scarf wrapped around her neck. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were looking off toward the pale hand with long fingers. The look on her face was an impossible mixture of fear, relief, and—yes, it had to be—hope. Her hands were clenched desperately around the thick wool scarf, and her shimmering brown eyes reflected the possibility of something not yet comprehensible; something that was even now only barely conceivable.

This time, Bella laughed at the thought of it.

As usual, he had somehow emerged victorious.

She had wanted to show him a part of her he had never seen, but he had seen that part, too.

He _had_ known her…before she even knew herself.

His hand was under her chin, and before she knew it she was staring into his eyes.

"Did my mom recognize you?"

"She never saw my face. And Charlie was much too concerned with your welfare than to pay any attention to me."

Bella looked down at her hands, desperately clutching the bundle of gray wool to her heart; just as they had done all those years ago. Her fingers relaxed and she wrapped the soft cashmere around her neck, and then around his, finally letting the scarf's fringed edges rest upon the floor. He looked down at the material now binding them together, unable to keep the look of unadulterated joy from his face.

"You kept it?"

"I don't know why. I would wear it every day, until Charlie said 'no one wears a scarf in August' and threatened to throw it away. I hid it in my closet. I just couldn't let it go."

And then the tears came flooding back and this time she could not stop them. Too much. Too good. Too incredible for one small girl to understand at the age of seven, and even now, still too incredible for the same small girl who had grown up and found him again.

"Edward, I don't –" She wasn't even sure what she wanted to say. For a girl who had never believed in destiny, she certainly seemed to be reaping its rewards. Yes, that was it: some cruel twist of fate was surely in store for her, as payment for all this beauty, all this bliss. Before she could voice her fears, his fingers were on her lips.

"I was always meant to save you, Bella."

And somewhere deep inside herself; in the same part of her that always knew he loved her, even when he was gone, she knew that this, too, was undeniable. The depth of his love was just as real as the fact that she was always meant to be the recipient of it.

She closed her eyes and let the love in his voice surround her, washing away the last traces of doubt toward their seemingly sealed and re-sealed fate. Her heartbeat slowed —for once in his presence—as she silently promised herself that one day she would return the favor. One day, when their fates were truly intertwined, when she was—how did he always put it?—less breakable, she would save him.

His lips descended upon hers, but before they could find their home, she heard him whisper,

"You already have."

...


End file.
